by Tessa Candle
Mr. Ravelsham and Mr. DeGroen volunteered to ride up top with the coachman. And Smythe, who was quite beside himself with concern, agreed to squeeze into the servants' carriage, so that his master might not be pressed for space.
Mr. Norwood's manservant rode ahead to fetch a doctor who would meet them at Nesterling Lodge, which, according to Mr. Norwood was less than an hour away.
And so they bundled Rutherford into the coach, wrapped in a wool blanket, and set off as fast as the horses could bear them.
When they were in the carriage, without any servants about to hear them, Lydia could finally tell the party what had happened. When she was finished, they were all astounded.
“Good Lord, what a foul devil of a man!” Mrs. Norwood's face was glowing at bit pink from the story. “And so you hacked away at branches with that fiend's own broken, bloodstained knife to make that contraption for poor Mr. Rutherford? Well, thank the heavens you were wearing your riding gloves. But what effrontery! Whatever shall we do?!”
“My dear, it shall be just as Miss Ravelsham has laid it out for us.” Mr. Norwood instructed his wife. “But you must be strong. You must act as if our sole intention in coming out to the country were to enjoy the company of our friends on a hunting party at the estate.”
Mrs. Norwood sighed. “Yes, yes. But then what was the rest?”
“The unfortunate business with Mr. Rutherford occurred while he was riding out to attend to some matters in the country. He was then to proceed on to Nesterling to join our party, having sent his servants along with ours.” Lydia's father patiently recited the fiction they had agreed upon.
He thought for a moment. “But he came across Mr. Delacroix being attacked, apparently by his own carriage driver. When the driver shot Mr. Delacroix, Rutherford intervened, was stabbed and fell in a dead faint. The assailant escaped in the carriage.”
Mr. Norwood took a breath and continued, “When he regained consciousness, Rutherford managed to get on his horse and ride back to the main road, where we came across him, nearly falling out of his saddle. So we made for the nearest place we could treat him, which happens to be our conveniently situated estate. Thank the Lord for that.”
“Right.” Mrs. Norwood looked unsure.
“And Lydia has been with us this whole time,” Tilly added.
“Indeed.”
“Thank God the bleeding seems to have stopped.” Lydia could not keep her eyes off the pale face of Rutherford. “He was so brave. I should have been—well you would doubtless have a daughter on the point of marriage by now if he had not come to my aid.”
“Over my dead body.” Her father's eyes gleamed. “I should never let you marry such a man, even had you been caught in flagrante delicto by the Archbishop of Canterbury and paraded naked through the streets with an 'A' branded on your—”
“Charles, please!” Mrs. Norwood interjected. “Miss Ravelsham is a maiden and not accustomed to your unusual way of talking.”
Tilly kept her lips pressed together, until the impulse to laugh passed. “Not at all, Mrs. Norwood. This experience has taxed us all to the utmost limits of our nerves. However, I agree with Mr. Norwood's sentiment, entirely. Who could condemn dear, sweet Lydia to any sort of connection with such a vile man? No one who loved her.”
Tilly grasped her friend's hand, but noted that Lydia stared almost blankly at Rutherford.
Mrs. Norwood wiped her eye and looked out the window.
Mr. Norwood turned to Tilly. “Miss Ravelsham, I must commend you, again, for your quick thinking. And I must thank you. You are a most remarkable young woman, and we are so fortunate that Lydia has found such a steadfast and clever friend.”
“'Twas nothing at all. I am only glad, indeed deeply thankful, that Lydia is safe.” Tilly tried to catch Lydia's eye, to no avail.
“And he was not daunted by being shot at.” Lydia's gaze was still steadily fixed on Rutherford, as though she had not heard this exchange at all. “He came to save me, though he had no weapon to defend himself. And I ran off like a coward to hide in the trees.”
“Really Lydia!” Tilly squeezed her friend's hand again. “You must not blame yourself for trying to escape, after such a horrible affront. You were frightened to death and still half drugged! Running away was the only sensible thing to do.”
Tilly sighed and shook her head, then added, “And devising a way to remove Rutherford to safety after he was injured was much more than most girls your age would have had wits for.”
“Or most men, either, it should be said.” Lydia's father smiled, though tears threatened to flood his eyes. “You two really are forces to be reckoned with. I am truly very proud of you, Lydia. And you are blameless in this. Utterly blameless.”
But Tilly could see very clearly that Lydia did not feel blameless and that her nerves were so shocked by this whole adventure that she could not receive comfort from her father, from any of the people who loved her.
Chapter 22
Lydia could only stare at Rutherford's unconscious form where he lay in a well-warmed guest room at her family's estate.
The cheery amber blaze of the fire in the hearth could not dispel the gloom and dread in her heart. Her virtue mattered not at all if the man who had tried to protect it with his life should pass from this world.
“I am sorry to say it, but there is not much more I can do at the moment.” The doctor's eyes were shadowed and red.
He had spent most of the night removing the tip of the broken blade from Rutherford's shoulder and observing him. “I shall go home now, but I shall be back to check on the patient after dinner, if that is convenient.”
“Of course it is. You may come at any time, Doctor Gant. We are very grateful to you for your close attentions to our friend.” Mr. Norwood looked almost as weary as the doctor.
“Is there anything we should do for him?” Lydia was not permitted to sleep in Mr. Rutherford's room and attend him, as she had wished. But her parents had indulged her feelings of guilt and concern enough to let her check on him regularly.
“No. Nothing more than you are already doing. The worst is over. He has lost a lot of blood, but he should recover from that, fully, so long as he does not develop a fever. I have treated a lot of duelling injuries, and nine times out of ten the fever is more serious than the wound itself.”
He looked at Lydia's worried face and added, “But he is young and was clearly in good health before this mishap. I have every reason for optimism. Only now you must excuse me. I shall see you this evening.”
They all saw the doctor out, leaving Rutherford to the tender ministrations of Smythe.
Just as the doctor was leaving, the huntsman and groom entered.
“Beg your pardon for the intrusion, Mr. Norwood. Only I thought you would want to hear the news direct, like.”
“News? What news?”
Lydia drew closer so she could better hear.
“Well, we went back to tidy up the sled trail, and such, just as you said. Only when we got there, we checked on the body, and Mr. Delacroix, he was still breathin', shallow like.”
“Good Lord!”
“We bundled him in our cloaks and onto one of the horses, and made our way to Dunston.”
Her father nodded his head grimly. “Yes, yes. You did the right thing. Very good.”
“His lordship happened to have a doctor there for one of the farmer's children.”
“How very fortunate.” Mr. Norwood's lips formed a hard line.
“Yeah. So long and short, Mr. Delacroix is there at Dunston Hall. His brother was very grateful for the service. You should expect his lordship to pay a call in the next few days.”
“Very well. And I thank you. The doctor has seen your master, and is hopeful. Our housekeeper has arranged rooms for you in the servants' quarters.” Mr. Norwood slipped into deep thought.
After the servants left, Lydia and Tilly joined him in his study.
“I know I should not think this, much less say it to you tw
o, but why couldn't Delacroix just have stayed dead?” Lydia's father rubbed his weary eyes.
“Indeed. I quite sympathize with the sentiment, but on the other hand, he may still die. And in the meantime, it lends a sort of credibility to our version of the facts.” Tilly pressed an index finger to her temple. “I only hope that Mr. Rutherford regains consciousness soon. We rather need him to go along with the story, if things are to go smoothly.”
It was irritating that her friend took such a mercenary view of her rescuer's recovery.
Lydia's tone was tart as she remonstrated, “I hope Mr. Rutherford regains his health, howsoever it might bode for our official story. I just want him well and I do not care a whit if I am branded as a fallen woman. I should gladly trade my reputation for his life.”
“Well, luckily it will not come to that.” Tilly tried to sound conciliatory. “Only we must find a way to make what we say seem natural and plausible. And we had better hope that Delacroix has the good sense not to contradict it.”
“Yes, let us hope so.” Mr. Norwood poured himself a brandy, as early as it was. “Though I cannot say he has shown much evidence of having any goodness at all and very little sense, I believe we may at least rely upon his robust supply of basic self-interest.”
Lydia excused herself to look in on Rutherford. Smythe was holding vigil by his bedside. Such loyalty. “Has there been any change in our patient?”
“Not as yet, Miss.” Smythe stood up as straight and stalwart as a stone tower. “But he seems to be resting peacefully.”
“That is as it should be, I suppose. I can sit by him for a while, if you would like to take a little turn about the grounds.”
“Not at all, Miss. I shall stay here as long as I have leave to do so.”
She smiled again. “Of course you have leave. I shall have your meals brought to you here, then.”
“Be careful what you offer. He eats like a horse.” Rutherford's voice was faint and gravelly.
“Sir!”
“Mr. Rutherford!” She rushed to his side. “You cannot imagine how relieved I am. We have all been so worried.”
“My appetite is quite restrained, I assure you, Sir.” Smythe appeared at her shoulder.
“Yes, yes, Smythe. Once again you are unjustly maligned. But thank you both for your care—where am I?”
“At Nesterling Lodge, my father's estate. Do you remember coming here to see Aristophanes?”
“Yes, of course. But I am rather sparse on the details of this most recent visit. Pardon the indelicacy, but I last remember clamouring about on a carriage, trying to rescue you. And Smythe was decidedly not there.”
“It is a bit of a long, complicated tale, I am afraid.” Lydia could not help grinning at him, and tears of joy were threatening to make a fool of her.
“You mean, something more complicated than being shot? Good Lord, my shoulder feels like it has been hewn off and stitched back on with vetch.”
“That was the result of a knife wound, actually. The bullet only grazed you. Doctor Gant left some laudanum for you.”
She retrieved the bottle, and measured out the dose into a cup of barley water. “It will make you sleepy, however. If you can manage to endure the pain for a short while, I believe my father and Miss Ravelsham will wish to speak with you as soon as may be—if it is not too great an imposition.”
“Miss Ravelsham is here, too, then?” Rutherford's face formed into a stupid smile. “No, indeed. No imposition at all. But this is all rather mysterious.”
When the little group had assembled in his room, they explained the situation as quickly as possible. Lydia blushed when she recounted the tale of her escaping into a tree and then coming back after she thought he had been shot. Mr. Norwood clenched his jaw when he spoke of the news of Delacroix's survival.
Miss Ravelsham calmly outlined the story they had conveyed to Delacroix's brother and the original plan to find and retrieve Lydia, then pretend that they had all merely gone for a hunting trip to the country.
“I must say I am impressed, almost terrified, in fact, at how quickly you devised this scheme and executed it, Miss Ravelsham. Using my dogs was a stroke of genius.” Rutherford's good arm moved a little toward Tilly.
Tilly smiled. “Well, you had mentioned that you brought them with you to town. But it was nothing. I think you should be more impressed with Lydia for bandaging you up and cobbling together a sleigh to get you out of there.”
“Yes. I am not sure which of you is more terrifying, really.” Rutherford looked back and forth between the two of them.
Lydia blushed. “I am, in fact, most impressed with you, Mr. Rutherford. For you chose to risk your own life to rescue me—though I am nothing at all to you. I do hope—I pray—you will forgive me for running away in the first place, when I should have stayed and fought with you. I have been cursing myself for a coward ever since.”
Lydia could feel her voice giving out at the end of these words, and wished she did not look like a vapourish little fool.
“Lydia...” Her father looked beside himself.
“Please do not trouble yourself on that head,” Rutherford reassured her. “You are a most unusual girl for even thinking of joining the fight. I wanted you to run. You did what any sensible woman would have done under the circumstances. There is little you could have done, formidable though you appear to be, against men armed with knives and guns. Or if you had shown me up, I should have died of manly shame much sooner than of these trifling wounds. There is nothing at all to forgive.”
“You are too good.” Lydia was relieved, but could not meet his eye.
“Only now, I think I really must take that laudanum. Forgive me. Perhaps we can speak more later.”
When they all left the sick room to let Mr. Rutherford rest, Tilly pulled Lydia aside. “Are you up to visiting Delacroix?”
“I beg your pardon? What on earth are you thinking?” Her friend must have finally lost her mind.
“Well, not visit him, precisely, for he is no doubt not up to visitors, but we could call at Dunston Hall. Look, I do not know the details of what went on in that carriage, but I should understand if you were afraid of ever seeing him again.” Tilly searched Lydia's face.
“Well... things did not get that far. But I should prefer never again to set eyes on that vile bit of human filth, unless it is to lay a beating on him, if that is what you mean.”
Tilly laughed. “My friend, I love your spirit. But you must conceal your feelings.”
Lydia frowned. “Why ever should we go visit him?”
“Is it not obvious? We are the only members of our party acquainted with him—aside from your father, who shall accompany us, but is still a bit too angry to be trusted with delicate social subterfuge.”
“But please, what are you speaking of?” Lydia's voice betrayed her exasperation.
“I mean, it is quite natural for people of his acquaintance to pay a call to enquire after his recovery, being in the same part of the country.”
Tilly carried on as though Lydia were not staring at her like she was utterly balmy. “And particularly Mr. Norwood, to whose hunting party Rutherford was bound when he came across the robbery. But it would not be natural for someone who had, for instance, been abducted and wronged to show up and pay a visit.”
“You mean, in case he makes that claim.” Lydia knew her friend had a point, but she did not like where the conversation was going.
“Yes, it is hard to be certain of what he will say. He is probably not even conscious yet. His injuries must have been more serious than Rutherford's, surely. By your account, I can scarcely believe that he is still alive. But a secondary motive for the visit is that we may ascertain how well the vile little wretch is recovering.”
Lydia shook her head. “But if he says anything, if he tries to implicate me, what shall I do?”
“You will look innocently confused. It will be the ravings of an invalid. Probably feverish. Having laid eyes on you while still
in leave of his senses, a compromised mind might dream up anything... Though it is highly unlikely that he should be able to talk for some time.”
“His ability to breathe is a sufficient marvel.” Lydia did not add and a great pity.
“The crucial thing is to behave normally—as if you are only there to visit a convalescent acquaintance.”
“But there is so much at stake for me.” Lydia leaned against the wall and tried to control her breathing. It was too much. She could not see him again.
“And nothing for him. I see what you are feeling.” Tilly rubbed Lydia's arm. “Be at ease, his brother is probably a respectable man. He will be most eager to believe our version of events, should it come to that. Who would not prefer to believe that his brother was the innocent victim of a robbery, rather than a would-be abductor? In fact he probably already believes us. The story was given to him under compelling circumstances—the delivery of his injured brother. Saving his miserable hide would not be in the interests of the family of the woman he had wronged, would it?”
“Your logic is sound. However, I cannot but apprehend that this will be a most unpleasant visit.” Lydia's face was pale.
“I shall be there with you, Lydia. But you must seem like any young woman of the ton visiting a passing acquaintance who is unwell. So you must sound vaguely too curious—as though you might be angling for some gossip.”
“Right. That sounds natural.”
“Not for you, perhaps, but for a good three quarters of society, it is. He doesn't know you. And we shall wait a day or so before we go. We can practice a bit before we pay the call. Would that help?”
“Probably.” She could not help feeling ill, even as she tried to smile for Tilly's sake. “I honestly do not know what we should have done without you in this whole débâcle. But you are oddly capable of such extensive machinations. I really do wonder at you.”
“If you keep questioning my character, I think I might require some sweets as compensation.” Tilly loved to change the subject.
Lydia lifted a brow but led her friend to the breakfast parlour. “Let us not go right away, however. I shall need to rehearse, and I want to be very sure that Mr. Rutherford is recovering, first.”
